


Pins and Needles

by Hopetohell



Category: Hellraiser & Related Fandoms, Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: And some therapy, BDSM, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bruising, Injury, Mike needs a hug, No Smut, Pain, Painplay, Violence, but he gets pinhead instead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: And the tears don't matter so much, anyway. What matters is that you keep returning here, to this place, to where you wrap your own arms in chains and beg me to mark you, to open you wide, to claim you for the dark.Mike can’t seem to leave it alone.
Relationships: Pinhead/mike
Kudos: 2





	Pins and Needles

Here we are, Mike, hold these chains-- _hold them--_ don't you dare move, because it'll hurt as it is, and while I want to make you hurt, make you bleed, I don't think I'm quite ready to bury you yet. Not today. Today is for reflection, Mike, for thought and care and the way your blood blooms under my hand, the way your muscles shine in red strands in the light.

Beautiful boy. How you bleed for me. 

Let me strike at you, gorgeous; let me lay bruises from your nape to the curve of your ass; you know how it feels, don't you, to be stiff and sore and wearing the pleasant ache of a rough night. Let me give you more; let me render you unable to sit, unable to lie on your back. And then I will turn you; I will stripe your other side and raise the most _gorgeous_ welts on your thighs; you can find someone else to hurt you, pretty thing, but not like me. Not someone who knows every nook and cranny in your mind, someone who sees you writhing in your sleep and knows so intimately what you see in your dreams.

I know, because I'm there. It's me, pretty thing, and though you fear me this is for the best. This will be a release for you, from care and sorrow and the pain of your pitiful little mortal's problems. Let me in, my darling. Let me have you. 

You asked me, once, about the pins. And I told you, didn't I, that they were for focus. A reminder, to keep me centered. I've never lied to you, not once, but that day I didn't tell you everything. The truth, the final truth, is this: I like it. And I'll teach you to like it too; my torments are not your torments, but yours will fulfil you in the same way. 

I think, once again, we will try the iron collar. You felt those pinpricks at the back of your neck for days, didn't you, beautiful boy. You felt the pain and it eased your sorrows, gave you tactile proof that your body and mind were still connected. I know the fear of dissolution, love; I know the pain of keeping mind and body tethered in the face of something far greater than myself. And you have seen hell, haven't you? You've _really_ seen it, buried in your coffin, earth all around, waiting for the worms to come. Compared to that, pain is a blessing.

Let me focus you, love. Let me bind your throat and strike at you til every inch of you is shining. Let me in, so that I might find the burning core of you and draw it into the light. You are still afraid despite all our time together; you still flinch a little at the first bite of pain. But you grow stronger every time; look at that. Here I've drawn blood and you've barely cried at all. And the tears don't matter so much, anyway. What matters is that you keep returning here, to this place, to where you wrap your own arms in chains and beg me to mark you, to open you wide, to claim you for the dark. 

You come here and you listen; you let the smirk fall from your lips to be replaced with gasping whines and the wet sounds of a man drowning; soon you won't even fear this, or me, anymore, and then the next phase of your transformation can begin. First comes acceptance, then understanding, then pleasure. You are still so young, so innocent despite it all. I wish you could see how beautifully you break, how piece by piece you fall apart to reveal your furiously burning core. Everything that's happened has only served to dim your light; it hasn't snuffed it out. You can rise, Mike, beyond fear of pain, beyond fear of an early dark grave, beyond pure fear itself. I know you can; otherwise I wouldn't bother pushing you so hard. I hurt you because I love you, Mike, because when the collar closes around your neck and the spikes bite in, I can see what you really are underneath. And it is beautiful.

When we finally peel away the last wretched pieces of your old life, you will sit at my right hand and together we will lay our plans. Together we will shepherd newcomers into the fold; I serve the Lament and it is always seeking new blood. And you will serve me, until such time as you surpass me. No one has in all my long years, but I think perhaps you might. Wouldn't you like to find out? So for now, precious boy, accept your fate, that you are bound to end up here, holding these chains of your own volition. You are bound to wait for suffering and pain, so that you might be made new.


End file.
